drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary


dead poet's society

There's something terribly wrong with my links color. I hate purple. The fact that it's all over my diary gives me a nagging little itch in my side. Ah, woe is me. The things I have to contend with in life. Being computer illiterate certainly impedes my happiness.

Elena and I went to see Little Shop of Horrors at one of the private high schools in town. It was very cute. I spent half the time laughing at the jokes in the script or the delivery, and half the time laughing at how bad/stupid they were. The whole thing wasn't bad/stupid, but there were certainly moments, which pleased me immensely. It's the masochist in me.

While Elena was dropping me off, we drove past the coffee shop and noticed everyone's cars parked there. We're talking everyone. Theater people, coffee shop people, etc. So we naturally decide to stop by and crash the party. Well. Turns out they're having a poetry night. This we are breezily informed as they pass us out the door to get into their cars to leave. "It's every Thursday night. Nobody told you? Oh..."


So Elena and I are going to start our own poetry night. With just us. Can't you see it? Us taking turns standing up, clearing our throats, reading passionately from some book or something we wrote, the other listening rapturously and clapping all by themselves? It kills me. It really does. I can't breath for lack of air.

9:27 p.m. - 2004-02-26


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